Status whores must die!

 

Status whores are my least favorite whores of all.

 

At least sex whores don’t put on airs about their shtick. They are providing a service and they want to make a righteous dollar from it. They don’t dress up their vocation as anything other than what it is. They fuck for money, wham bang, thank you m’am.  End of story.

 

But status whores are vile trash mongers. I hate status whores because ultimately what drives them is that distasteful gnawing conformity, a noxious sense of “keeping up with the Joneses” for no other reason than shallow imagery. Status whores come in all shapes and sizes and classes.

 

There are economically downtrodden status whores who debt-climb their way up the ladder of facade, and there are very wealthy status whores who can afford their self-inflicted distinctions quite well, thank you.  And an infinite shade of status whoredom exists in between.

 

There is a little raging status whore in all of us. Status whoredom is a continuum, a bell curve of shitty human nature. I will never pretend to not be a status whore because that would be a lie and I am too self-aware to pretend to be anti-status whore incarnate. I do things in my life, I am guilty of certain behaviors, that make it patently obvious the status whore dwells in me. Granted, I am on a leading edge of the bell curve, on the left end, near the ascetics, the clergy, the indigent; there is very little of the status whore in me, but when one works in the Hollywood “Industry” and lives in the class-conscious toilet bowl that is coastal Southern California, it is direly difficult to be anything other than a status whore. By comparison to most Angelenos, I am nothing approaching a status whore, but  if I lived in Topeka, Kansas, I would be the fancy swashbuckling big city outsider by comparison.  A real smoldering status whore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I dress OK, not super fashionably or anything like that, but nice enough not to attract undue caustic judgment from superficial Los Angeles bitches (sorry for the redundancy).   I don’t have that “well-put-together” look that a lot of guys have.  It’s obvious I don’t fuss over my clothes and the aesthetic fluidity of the ensemble I wear for the day.  I’m not disheveled;  I’m just not striking.

 

My hair is a complete drab mess. My SO cuts my hair every few weeks in the balcony of our condo. She is not professionally trained but she is adept enough to maintain this symbolic attempt at a hairstyle that is barely discernible on my scalp which sadly becomes more visible as each day passes. Some guys really put a lot of thought into their hair. It is combed and product-ridden just so, and it seems very trendy and it’s just too much work and too much money in my humble estimation. Only status whores care about their hair that much.

 

I drive a domestic car, make and model indeterminate in the grand scheme of SoCal’s auto-fixation. Status whores in this town drive foreign, that’s all there is to it. They would rather spend $60,000+ on a sedate sedan than on a svelte Corvette. My car rarely is washed and plays the dutiful role of antithesis to status whoredom. Status whores in this town would not be caught dead driving what I drive, even as a rental (in fact, most of them drive the type of cars which, when garaged with the mechanic, allow them to use a “courtesy car” during their period of horrid inconvenience).

 

Status whores must eat the right food from the ordained eateries. The newer and more ironically named the restaurant, the better. Status whores don’t cook. They buy prepared meals and the more original and unprecedented their menu item, the better. They sit in groups of gluttonous pigs and ooh and ah over food. They don’t brown bag it and they don’t eat cleanly or whole very often. I eat simply. I eat whole, undoctored meat without sauces and usually accompany that with a mass of vegetables. I throw in a sweet potato as a “treat” sometimes. I eat fruit for desert. I rarely eat fancy baked foreign shit and I don’t consume much stuff with powdered sugar.

 

I drink my coffee black and hot. Always.

 

I am not a status whore.

 

I voted for Donald Trump and I still support him. In California, that is a special, golden path to wearing this anti-status whore badge of honor; proudly!

 

 

 

 

  • Eric Shun

    By comparison to most Angelenos, I am nothing approaching a status whore, but if I lived in Topeka, Kansas, I would be the fancy swashbuckling big city outsider by comparison.

    This was me in Miami Beach in the early ’90s (non status whore), then in St. Lois in the early ’00s (swashbuckling outsider).

    • AKA, the Big Fish in the Small Pond Syndrome :) Why is it that Midwest cities, regardless of size, still seem like small ponds?